


'cause i'll know my weakness, know my voice

by flawlessassholes



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Other, Superfamily, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlessassholes/pseuds/flawlessassholes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Peter Stark turns twenty-one, he is thrust into the role he has been trained to do his entire life: heir of Stark Industries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Coronation

 

 

 

As Peter laid in his bed the morning after his twenty-first birthday, he couldn’t help but compare this day to a coronation.  
  
Of course, that make his father the queen, and Peter a pretty princess.  
  
Well, he was a princess. Or at least heir.  
  
Heir to Stark Industries.  
  
Which he was going to inherit the day after he turned twenty-one.  
  
Which.  
  
Was.  
  
Today.  
  
Peter took a short break from his early morning freakout, which happened nearly every morning now, to get dressed and walk down the street to the coffee shop he had frequented during high school, before he went to his father’s old boarding school for his senior year, and then off to MIT for four years. Really, these past two weeks were the first time Peter had been back in New York since he was seventeen. And he hadn’t even been out in the city yet, too busy creating non-stop in a workshop that was about to be _his._  
  
He shook his head and pulled on his workshop clothes from last night, an outfit so classically _Stark_. An old tour t-shirt, Mumford  & Sons, holy jeans covered in grease and oil, and crappy-ass Converse. A quick run-through to make sure his face wasn’t covered in motor-oil proved true what he was thinking all morning: he was a clone of Tony Stark.  
  
Peter supposed it was his last morning of casually going out to to get coffee as Just-Peter-Thanks, not Peter Stark, richest 21 year old alive, or as Peter Stark, CEO of a Forbes top 5 company.  
  
Not as Peter Stark, engineer, businessman. Prodigal son.  
  
 _An exact replica of his father._  
  
Just-Peter-Thanks had to remind himself that this was a no freakout zone, this little walk to the coffee shop and back. No freakout zones were few and far between, things like showers were no freakout zones. Toasting toast was a no freakout zone. Maintenance on his bots was a no freakout zone. Prep for his press conference at three-thirty? Total freakout zone. Total panic.  
  
 _No freakouts, Pete. Just get the latte and get back to the tower without any paparazzi spying you, and you’ll be fine._  
  
Lost in his thoughts, Just-Peter-Thanks found his way to the little coffee place down the road, and found Gwen Stacey, his high school girlfriend, behind the counter. Ex-girlfriend. While the split had been amicable, they had been each other’s first... everything. And this would be the first time seeing each other in five years.  
  
The bell jingled as he entered. “Hi, welcome to Callahan's Coffee House, my name is...” Gwen looked up from the mocha machine, and trailed off, before smiling at Peter. “Well, if it isn’t the man of the century. Big day, huh?”  
  
Peter nodded quickly, returning the smile. “How bad is the media?” He asked, pulling out his wallet.  
  
“Not too bad. Stark Industries’ stocks are estimated to go up, if that makes you feel better.” Gwen said, getting to work on making Peter’s favorite latte, double shot of espresso and pumpkin spice, even though it was well past fall. It both comforted Peter and made him a little uneasy that she still knew his order.  
  
“It doesn’t.” He replied. “One for my dad, too. Triple shot espresso. Black. He’s been nervous.” He watched Gwen nod, and work on getting the coffee ready, packaging them and placing them on the counter.  
  
“6.50. Feel free to tip me, seeing as you’re a multi-billionaire.”  
  
Peter chuckled and handed Gwen a crumpled twenty, placing the change in the tip jar. He raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to join him at a table. He saw Gwen look around at the empty shop, before smiling and taking off her apron.  
  
They sat.  
  
“Are you even prepared to do this, Peter?” Gwen asked after a few minutes of silence, sipping at a water.  
  
He sighed, and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and taking a sip of his latte. “To be honest? I’d hope so. A mechanical engineering intensive at Phillips Academy, four years and two doctorates in mechanical engineering and computer program, plus a bachelors in Physics? I hope so.”  
  
“Sounds like you worked your ass off.”  
  
Peter laughed dryly. “Yeah, to say the least. I don’t even think I slept twenty four hours in my entire time at MIT. How was ESU?”  
Gwen brightened. “Good. Really good. I’m actually off to join the Peace Corps, just waiting to hear for my assignments, paying off shit by working here.” She said, with a smile. “I can’t believe your dad is actually going to turn the company over to you today. That’s huge, Peter.”  
  
“I know.” He said, sighing and glancing at his StarkPhone. “I should get going, though. Come by the tower sometime, I’m sure you still have access everywhere.” He picked up his coffee cups and stilled before stooping down and kissing her on the cheek. "It was good to see you again." Peter said quietly.  
  
Gwen stood and smiled, before placing her hands on his shoulders. "You can do this, Peter. Don't show fear." She said with a wry grin.  
  
He laughed. "I'll try not to."  
  
\--

"Jarvis, show the rendering at thirty percent opacity, and pull the schematics up next to it." Peter leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his face. Once the schematics were up, he grabbed his wrench and started in on rebuilding an ancient Mazada Protege, '96. It was old and a piece of shit, but it was a good project to take his mind off of things.  
  
His father's hands landed on his back, heavy and warm. "I could have bought you the new Audi."  
  
Peter shook his head and wiped his hands on a rag that was dirtier than his hands, standing up. "Nah. The Protege is exactly my type of project."  
  
Tony smiled, his eyes crinkling and the wrinkles that now dominated his face showing through. "Couch. I wanna talk to you."  
  
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not another lesson, Dad. The press conference is this afternoon. I'm ready."  
  
"Not a lesson. A talk. Sit." Tony pointed to the couch and Peter sat, studying his father.  
  
The great Tony Stark was, well, old. Hair graying, skin wrinkling, and leaning heavily on a cane from a battle gone wrong. A battle gone very wrong, that left him broken everywhere.  
   
“First off, your father would have been so, so proud of you for what you have accomplished, Peter.” Tony said, swallowing thickly before smiling brightly. Broken _everywhere_. “Secondly, I honestly think you will do great with this company. You are far more prepared than I ever was, and I can still help you sometimes. Please don’t be freaking out about this.”  
  
“I’m not.” Peter lied.

  
“You are too. Look, Pete. Just last minute things: No Fox News. Stay away from them. They’ll eat you alive. Also the stocks don’t matter. Listen to your P.A., no matter what. And if you don’t have one, get one.” Tony said, and then grinned. “You’re going to be fine, bud.”  
  
Peter sighed. “Okay. Fine. Can you look at these specs though?” Peter said, getting up, and pointing at the blue screen displayed in front of his desk. “I got you coffee, by the way.” He said, motioning to the cardboard cup.  
  
“Best son ever.”  
  
He chuckled. “Right. So I’m thinking the first major project I’d like to take on is getting into the private sector of space. With the latest arc reactors, we’d be able to build faster and safer rockets.”  
  
Tony nodded. “That’s a great first project, I would think.”  
  
“And we could start the interviews for internships early, get a jump on Oscorp, this year I want to focus on Georgia Tech and MIT, personally.” Peter said, moving his fingers over the display and bringing up names and profiles of college seniors. “I’ve already been looking.”  
  
“See?” Tony said, with a grin and a clap on the back. “You’re already far more prepared than I was. You’ll do fine. Now go wash up, and put that nice suit on. The press and god and everybody will be here in two hours and you’ve got motor oil everywhere.”  
  
\--  
  
Peter tied his tie. Blue. Ran a hand through his hair. Showtime.  
  
Shit, he wasn’t wearing pants.  
  
Peter pulled on his navy blue slacks, slipped on a belt, ran a hand through his hair. Showtime.  
  
\--

“Friends, Co-workers, the Media, I stand here before you as an old man.” Tony Stark said, glinting into the crowd that had gathered before the steps of Stark Tower, an entire New York City block blocked off for the occasion, and every bit of the space was filled. “Now, not so old that I’m losing my touch or have become any less of the old snark you know and love, but nevertheless, old.”  
  
Peter chuckled. He sat beside Pepper, hands folded neatly in his lap, in a row of chairs behind the podium that held board members and important heads of department, and of course, him.  
  
“In 1895, my grandfather, Issac Stark Sr., set out to create a small engine developing corporation to assist in the completion of the Ford Model S, an early predecessor to the Model T Ford. His work was so successful, that he was contracted to start weapons engineering for the United States Army during World War 1. He raised two sons, Issac Stark, Jr., and Howard Stark. While Issac Stark, Jr., unfortunately died of a mustard gas attack during World War 1, his youngest son, Howard, took over the company and created Stark Industries. With some of the greatest minds of his era, my father revolutionized warfare in World War 2, made technological bounds, and defied history.”  
  
Tony glanced down at his notes with a small, sad chuckle. “He also created my late husband, for which I am thankful everyday.”  
  
Peter bowed his head for a moment, before looking back to his father. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the moment.  
  
“However, my father, as great as he was, didn’t last forever. He unfortunately passed away when I was seventeen years old, and when I was twenty-one, I took over his company. Through my control, Stark Industries is no longer iron-mongering weapons developers. Stark Industries is the best name in clean, reusable energy today. We have created better, smarter, technology.”  
  
Tony paused again.  
  
“I am not a fool.” He said solemnly. “I know that good things do not last forever. My part in the Avengers has left me old and broken. That’s why this company needs something, someone, young and new. This company needs my predecessor, my heir, my son. Peter James Stark. Thank you.” Tony stepped away from the podium as the crowd erupted in applause, and hugged Peter tightly.  
  
Peter stood at the podium and gazed out into the crowd, cameras going off like crazy, and he chuckled. “Thanks, Daddy.” He said, turning his head back towards his father, who waved at him. He faced the crowd with a sly, charming smile that was so Stark. “Let’s play this as if it’s my first day at a new school, shall we?” There was a smattering of laughter. “My name is Peter Stark. I’m twenty-one years old. And when I grow up, I’m gonna own Stark Industries.”  
  
There was more laughter. A few claps.  
  
“Well, I’ve grown up now, and the day has finally come. My old man is handing me the keys to the car.” Peter smirked. His aim was to play this as confident, cocky. “Excuse me, company. Yes, I know the world will miss the great Tony Stark, but will you really miss him that much?” He heard his father chuckle behind him. “He’s what, a million years old? This guy, let me tell you, has been working so hard to make this company what it is. He built this company to great heights with one idea in mind: to provide for his family, and for the world. And I think he succeeded in both. Not to toot my own horn, but he has raised an incredibly intelligent, well-rounded, handsome young man. And my Pops helped, making sure I was an eagle scout and volunteered in my community, and that I was inherently good.” Peter paused, and took a breath. “Give the guy a vacation. He deserves it.” There was some more claps from the crowd.  
  
“So, let’s play this like it’s the first day of school. To new sneakers, to new pencils, to new friends. To the future of Stark Industries. Thank you.” The crowd erupted in a roar of cheers and applause.  
  
And as Peter stood in front of this crowd, in front of his tower, looking proud, he couldn’t help but think that this whole coronation thing wasn’t too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my beta, Emily, at em1ree.tumblr.com, for listening to all my rants and rambles. Love her. You should too. Thank you so much for reading! If you have any questions or comments, PLEASE comment and I will answer every single one! I have been waiting for this account for so long and I am so happy that this is my first fic for it! Image at the top was created by me, and my tumblr is flawlessassholes.tumblr.com. LOVE YOU!


	2. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Peter Stark turns twenty-one, he is thrust into the role he has been trained to do his entire life: heir of Stark Industries.

“Stark!” A man roared as he threw open the door to Peter’s new office. It was a nice office. Big. The man had a bushy beard and was red in the face, steaming with anger. He visibly got more irritated at the sight of Peter. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware it was bring your kid to work day.”  
  
Peter raised an eyebrow and took a sip from his mug. He paused before answering. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that I employed people who don’t watch the news.”  
  
“Excuse me?” The red-faced-bearded asshole said, raising his eyebrow.  
  
“I took control of this company yesterday. Not my father. Me. My father, if you have a sincere problem with him, is currently on vacation in Fiji. He will be sailing around the world for the next year. Now, what is it? I’m very busy.” Peter said, leaning back in his chair.  
  
The red-faced-bearded asshole calmed. “I was uh, going to ask why the new shipments of alloys weren’t in. The engineering department can’t process the new tasks that we were given.”  
  
Peter scratched his chin and nodded, thoughtfully. “I suppose that would be a question for shipping and tracking, wouldn’t it?” He asked, taking another sip of his coffee.  
  
“I, uh, I suppose.” The man said, visibly flustered.  
  
Peter nodded. “Then I think you ought to go meet with them. I believe they are located on the fifth floor? And you can feel free to leave your name with my secretary on the way out.” His secretary was a girl named Anne, blond and all legs. He was thinking that all those rumors about secretaries and his Christmas bonus might start coming true.  
  
“Uh, yes, Mr. Uh...”  
  
“Stark. Peter Stark. Now, please, leave.”  
  
And the man left. Peter was kind of astounded at the new power he held. He kind of liked it. “Anne?” He called.  
  
The girl entered quickly. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” She asked, pulling out her StarkTablet and sat, preparing to type.  
  
“Oh, I was just wondering what was on the agenda for today.” He asked, taking another sip of his coffee. The coffee place on the tenth floor commons didn’t make his pumpkin latte like Gwen did, and his stomach ached for hers.  
  
“Well, you have a meeting with Pepper and the board in two hours, then at four you have a video conference with Mr. Fujikawa. That should last about two hours, and then this evening you’re set to go to a gala thrown in your honor. You have a meeting with your tailor at six.” Anne said, her fingers moving quickly over the blue screen of her tablet.  
  
Peter nodded, glancing to the projection of his computer screen. “Two hours till the board meeting?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Anne nodded.  
  
Peter grabbed his suit coat and swung it on. “Then I’m going to get a proper cup of coffee.”  
  
\--  
  
“Callahan’s coffee house...” Gwen looked up from the muffin display. “Peter!” She exclaimed. “I watched your speech on the news yesterday, you did really well. Very funny.” She said, hurrying to start making his order. “Uh, you look very professional.” Gwen said, once she had started the latte machine.  
  
“Thanks.” Peter said, pulling out his wallet. “The coffee shop in the building can’t make my order like you do, it tasted like shit this morning.” He said, sighing. “Gwen, why won’t you just marry me? Make me coffee every morning?”  
  
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “It’d be weird.” She set the latte on the counter. “There you go, friend.”  
  
He placed a twenty on the counter. He was about to suggest they sit before he heard the sound of a flashing camera. And he groaned.  
  
“Mr. Stark! Out of the tower already?” “Mr. Stark! Over here! What is your opinion on the oil crisis in Antarctica? Should we have drilled the Keystone Pipeline and forgotten the whole thing?” “Mr. Stark, who are you voting for this election?” “Mr. Stark, is it true Stark Industries is going to be merging with Fujikawa International?”  
  
Peter winced and looked at Gwen, eyes wide. “Help me.” He mouthed, before trying to push past the crowd. “Hey, everyone. I would love to answer questions, but I really have to get back--” He was cut off by the crowd roaring louder.  
  
“Mr. Stark! How do you feel about the Battle over the Atlantic? Any comment on it?” Peter heard the paparazzi and his face went pale, his stomach twisting into knots. Gwen saw this, and bless her, she acted fast.  
  
“SORRY! WE ARE CLOSED!” She shouted. “IF EVERYONE IS NOT OUT IN ONE MINUTE, I WILL CALL THE COPS.” Gwen looked at her watch. “59, 58, 57...”  
  
And just like that, the place was cleared out. The sidewalk outside, however, remained crowded with the paparazzi. Peter sighed, and collapsed into a chair, head in hands. “I hate the paparazzi, I swear I do. It was so nice being at school, because they weren’t allowed anywhere near me.”  
  
Gwen tsk’d. “I’m sorry.” She sat down next to him and rubbed his back. “That last guy too, what a dick. You don’t ask people things like that.”  
  
He shook his head. “No. It’s fine. I should be prepared for that kind of stuff. I am prepared for that kind of stuff.” He glanced at the crowd outside, and then turned back to Gwen. “I’m gonna need to stay here until they clear out.”  
  
Gwen smirked. “Wanna go in the back? Like we used to?”  
  
Peter smirked back and followed her.  
  
\--  
  
“You should be my Pepper.” He said, squirting more of the chocolate syrup into his mouth. He was laying flat on his back in the storeroom, head resting in Gwen’s lap, feet propped up on a bag of sugar.  
  
Gwen laughed, and popped another marshmallow in her mouth. “What do you mean by your Pepper?”  
  
“Like my dad. His personal assistant was Pepper Potts, and she helped him with everything. Right hand man. Girl. Woman.” He paused, squirted more chocolate syrup into his mouth. “Thing.”  
  
“I’m not qualified to be your man girl woman thing.” Gwen said, laughing. “Although, the Peace Corps denied my application...”  
  
Peter sat up, hair spiked wildly. “That’s perfect! I mean, I’m sorry that the Peace Corps denied your application, but you’ll be my P.A.! My dad told me to get one, anyway. It’ll be great. I’ll get you in touch with Pepper and everything! Gwen, you’re the best. I love you so much.” He said, kissing her on the cheek and looking down at his watch. “Shit!”  
  
“What?” She said, looking a tad confused.  
  
“I’m supposed to be at a board meeting. Uh. Right now.” Peter said, scrambling to his feet. “I’ve really got to go. I expect you in my office at 9am sharp, I mean, if you want to.” He quickly hugged her and kissed her cheek again, before rushing out of the store.  
  
\--  
  
“Hi, sorry I’m late.” Peter said, breezing into the conference room. He sat down at the head of the table. “I was caught by... well... a swarm of paparazzi, you could say.”  
  
“First meeting and you’re ten minutes late?” The bearded asshole from before shakes his head with a disapproving look. “Not off to a good start.”    
  
Peter raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his wheely chair. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were on the board...?”  
  
The asshole opened his mouth to speak, but an old guy next to him beat him to the punch. “This is Hank Pym. He’s one of our department heads, he’ll be giving us a report on the logistics of Research and Development in the third quarter.” The old guy wheezed and then returned to resting his hands on top of his very rotund belly.  
  
“Yes, I was actually going to give the report, Mr. Veridicci, but we were interrupted...” Hank Pym, world renowned asshole apparently, shrugged as if he was helpless.  
  
Peter felt like rolling his eyes, and Mr. Fartsingtonworthershire, the four hundred year old board member, was actually buying Pym’s assholeyness! “No, please, continue. I’m incredibly sorry for the interruption.” He gestured for them to start.  
  
“Anyways, like I was saying before we were graced by Mr. Stark’s presence, we have already made a name for ourselves in clean energy. But is that enough to keep Stark Industries afloat and stocks high?”  
  
Peter sighed, and settled in to be bored. He had attended board meetings before, and there was a point to their namesake. And was Pym really unveiling a chart? Like an infographic chart? Wow.  
  
“I’m talking about weapons.” Pym said, looking smug with himself.  
Peter bolted upright in his comfortable wheely chair. “Excuse me?” He said, a very deep frown forming on his face.  
  
\--  
  
“I thought you weren’t going to call me on the first day?”  
  
Peter sighed into the StarkPhone that was cradled in the nook of his shoulder as he held his arms out, his waist being measured by the tailor, a very italian, very old gentleman who had been Peter’s tailor since his first birthday party. Which had apparently been an occasion for a suit. “I wasn’t.”  
  
“Aw, kid, what’s buggin you? The stocks crashed? That happens to me, too. Often. Don’t feel bad.”  
  
“No, Dad. It’s... you know that asshole Pym, works down in... who gives a shit, really.” Peter said, as he was presented with two pairs of shoes. “The Armani, please.” He said, nodding to one pair, and they were whisked away.  
  
“Oh yeah. That jackass. Call him Henry, it really bugs him. He rode my ass about everything, total dick. What’s he up to?”  
  
Peter raised an eyebrow when he was presented with two shirts. “Light blue. The fresca pink will look good with the royale bleu, but the light blue gives the air of refined power.” He said, laying on his fluency in french, and turning back to the conversation back to his father. “Sorry, Dad. Ow, Gregorio, please, try avoiding stabbing my crotch with needles? Thanks. Anyways, he wants to bring back weapons development. And Fartsingtonworthershire was on board with the whole thing!”  
  
“By Fartsingtonwerthershire, you wouldn’t happen to mean Pelino Verdicci?”  
  
“Yeah, I do. Ouch, Gregorio!” Peter said, glancing down to the old man with an angry frown. “I knew we should have flown to Italy for this.” He muttered.  
  
“Peter Stark, you will not fly to Italy for a suit that poor Gregorio is perfectly capable of making. Anyways, he’s a total asshole. It’s not my company anymore, but please don’t bring back weapons. You can if you want, but I suggest that you don’t. Anyways, Petey, gotta go. Love you lots. But it’s Bahama Mama time!”  
  
And just like that, his father hung up, and Peter’s suit was finished.  
  
“That’ll be 4,000, Mr. Stark.” The old man said, taking the final pins out.  
  
He sighed a deep, deep sigh. “Thanks, Gregorio.” 

\--  
  
Peter had been to plenty of galas before. His father’s 50th birthday, his parent’s 25th wedding anniversary, the annual benefit for the Steve Rogers Memorial Charity Fund. But he had never been to one thrown in his honor.  
  
And it was _awesome_.  
  
Red carpets, for instance, had always been fun, but pulling up in his ‘63 Rolls Royce that he had souped up in his workshop, felt nice. Being greeted by models that he had only dreamed about sleeping with was nice. Being handed a scotch at the front door was nice, and he wasn’t even carded.  
  
Peter personally thanked the stubble he had been trying to grow for making him not look like a twelve year old at a Bar Mitzvah.  
  
However, even though the perks were nice, galas still sucked. Peter’s bowtie was a little too tight for his liking, this was his second glass of room temperature scotch, and the people here were miserable. The big, bad, and wealthy were all here. And Peter hated every single one of them.  
  
Suddenly, he was knocked forward by someone, and his scotch made a splotch stain on his pants. “What the hell?” He said, angrily, turning to face the person he had knocked into. And he was greeted by the woman of his dreams.  
  
Mary Jane Watson. Model. Actress. Peter had had a celebrity crush on her since he was thirteen, and god, in person, her boobs were even nicer than the poster he once had on his wall.  
  
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, resting a hand on his shoulder, before her eyes widened. “Oh my god, Peter Stark?”  
  
“Mary Jane Watson?” He asked, faking surprise. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”  
  
Mary Jane looked around confused. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve ever met...?”  
  
Peter laughed. “No, we haven’t. I was just trying to flirt. Poorly.”  
  
“Oh?” She said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, shall we go get you cleaned up?”  
  
\--  
  
An hour later, they were seated at the bar, laughing and drinking yet another round of drinks. Peter was impressed by how smoothly he was playing this. Things were going well. They had talked about everything, her acting career, his latest project, her family, his dad, books, art, movies. Everything. They were completely compatible in every way. They made corny jokes, made fun of the idiot rich people walking around in fur, and drank, mostly. Peter was in total love.  
  
“Anyways, to finish your question on why I am even talking to a nerd like you, I totally bumped into you on purpose. I had to meet the great Peter Stark. I swear to god, I’ve had a crush on you since I was thirteen and you and your dad were on the cover of Popular Science.” Mary Jane said, giggling and taking another sip of her bright pink martini.  
  
Peter ran a hand through his already wild hair. “Well, I guess making it look like I wet my pants turned out alright.” He said, laughing and placing his hand on her thigh.  
  
Mary Jane glanced down at his hand, and then back up to him, a smirk forming on her face. “Say, why don’t you give me that tour of the Stark Tower Penthouse you promised?”  
  
Peter grinned. “Why don’t I?”  
  
And with that, he took her hand and led her out of the hall, out into the cool summer night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to my beta, Emily! Her tumblr is em1ree.tumblr.com, please go check her out for listening to my insane ramblings. Thank you SO SO SO much to everyone who has kudo'd, bookmarked, commented, or even just glanced. I love every single one of you. Thank you to all the suggestions, please keep them AND the questions coming. Kisses. To all.


End file.
